


Active Imagination

by CavannaRose



Series: Rogues Fics [13]
Category: Suicide Squad (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Non-descriptive OFC, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 21:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14270127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: Please forgive this piece of self-serving smut that has been rattling around in my head. I should not put this into the world, but I cannot keep it stuck inside my brain. :3





	Active Imagination

She knew she shouldn't find him so fascinating, not with the things he did, and the coarse way he spoke. Somehow, despite his criminal behaviour, and positively prehistoric views on... well, basically everything. None of that seemed to come to the forefront of her mind when he was in her bar, all ginger muttonchops and attitude. The muttonchops, though, were definitely the clincher. He didn't wear them in that trendy, hipster-ironic way, just honest-to-goodness old-fashioned confidence. It was ridiculous, the way her body reacted to that idiotic beast of a man and his stupid facial hair, but there it was.

For some unimaginable reason, she wanted to run her fingers through it. Would it be soft like a teddy bear, or coarse and wiry? Would the skin underneath it be as rough as his manners? Just then the sound of his thick Aussie accent rose over the volume of the bar, and she turned to furiously scrubbed at the glass she was holding with her rag. This was getting out of hand.

She caught sight of his broad shoulders through the crowd, and her mind wandered somewhere it didn't need to. She didn't need to picture those big brown eyes peering over the soft swell of her stomach as his bristly cheeks abraded her tender inner thighs. She didn't need to imagine the timbre of his voice going low with lust. She was absolutely not going to picture the coarse feel of his hands pushing her thighs further apart, holding them there when she tried to close them with shyness and uncertainty. Most importantly, she didn't need to image the warmth of his breath between her legs, before his tongue delved into her depths...

She dropped the glass she held, shattering it to cheers of "OPA!" and applause from the drunken patrons. The heat suffusing her cheeks was clearly from embarrassment, nothing else. Her heavy breathing, that was something... she wasn't going to think about that. The bar-back put a calming hand on her shoulder, squeezing it once to get her attention and suggesting in a quiet voice that she take ten while he cleaned up the glass. Muttering a quick word of gratitude to her employee, she ducked out the back door.

She took a moment, shaking hands tapping out a cigarette in the chill evening air. Two tries and she still couldn't get her damned lighter to light, and she let out a string of curses in frustration. Her shoddy concentration was broken by a masculine chuckle, followed by the flick of a lighter as long, calloused hands offered the flame in her direction. Torn between gratitude and horror, she managed somehow to lean forward, letting that first, calming draw of nicotine to fill her lungs. It took a few more drags before she finally managed to raise her gaze to meet the eyes of the man she had been shamelessly fantasizing about mere moments before. They sparkled with good humour, causing crows feet to crinkle attractively in the corners.

"Don't think I ever heard ya cuss b'fore, no matter wha' the whackas at th'bar say ta ya..." he noted, that delicious accent of his crawling up her spine.

"Not much of a cusser," she acknowledged, puffing on her cigarette in search of some semblance of calm. This was not happening. Please.


End file.
